


insistence

by PaintedVanilla



Series: something about him [1]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Borderline Personality Disorder, Cigarettes, Crushes, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Married Couple, Open Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 11:14:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17364881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaintedVanilla/pseuds/PaintedVanilla
Summary: Alvie is the life of Mayfield. The social butterfly that keeps everyone begrudgingly connected. Even visitors know his name, especially the regulars, which is why when Alvie sees someone new wander in - a very handsome someone, he might add - his curiosity is immediately piqued.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *taps mic* uhhhhhhh halvie *crowd goes wild*

The only thing stopping Alvie for proclaiming, loudly, affectionately, and in great length, the extent of his feelings beyond a platonic sense for his roommate, is the wedding band on his finger.

Alvie lets himself talk about  _ anything  _ else, to keep the words from tumbling out of his mouth. He’s lucky he did a once over and saw the ring at all before the thought of how handsome Gregory House is occurred to him. Alvie will do  _ anything  _ to keep himself from admitting that his roommate is so handsome, and so tall, and that he wants nothing more than to curl up in his bed with him and spend the night there, in a romantic way and in an intimate way and in basically every other way that could possibly exist.

Really, Alvie’s ability to grab onto virtually  _ any  _ other train of thought when he starts to romanticize House too much is astounding. And, frankly, further proof that he doesn’t need his meds. He should brag to a nurse about that. When he finds time not to be bothering House, something he always seems to be doing. 

He gets the inkling he should maybe he ashamed of the extent he’s going to in order to keep himself from revealing his interest. He’ll grab whatever thought he can latch onto fast enough to avoid the topic. At least House doesn’t seem phased when Alvie casually mentions things like childhood sexual assault and the extent of his manic episodes. Really, all he comes across as is annoyed. And bored, sometimes, but bored and annoyed are better alternatives than what his reaction is sure to be if Alvie ever slips up.

“What’s your husband like?” Alvie asks one day, because after spiraling down a train of thought that lead to a daydream about having one of House’s fingers in his mouth, he jumped from House’s fingers to House’s wedding ring and then he was opening his mouth.

House doesn’t even look at him, “He’s an idiot.”

Alvie blinks, “But you like him, right?”

“Sometimes.” House says.

“Aren’t you supposed to marry people you like all the time?” Alvie asks, “Not that I would know. I’ve never been married. Grade A bachelor right here.”

“Nobody likes anybody all the time.” House says, ignoring Alvie’s other remarks, “For example: I like you none of the time.”

“You’re warming up to me!” Alvie insists, even as House walks away. 

He jumps up and follows House, catching up with him quickly, “How long you been married?”

“How long are you going to bother me about it?” House counters.

“I thought married people liked talking about their spouses.” Alvie says, “Again, not that I would know.”

“I’d like my husband more if he wasn’t on Nolan’s side.” House says bitterly.

“Ooh, a lover’s quarrel.” Alvie coos; he backs off for once when House gives him a menacing look. 

House doesn’t want to admit it, but he doesn’t want to talk about Wilson because he misses him. As upset as he is with his husband right now, it’s not easy to be mad at him and be separated from him at the same time. At least with past fights, the furthest away they would end up from each other would be the couch; a hotel room if it was particularly bad. But even then they’d see each other practically as soon as they came into work; they’d spend all day avoiding each other but eventually they’d be forced to talk because a case forced them to and gradually, the animosity would fade. It’s easier to bounce back from fights when you work down the hall from one another and your husband still insists on giving you a kiss every night before the two of you go to bed.

House  _ hates  _ that about Wilson. His stupid insistence of kissing House every night, even when they’re beyond pissed at one another. He kissed House goodnight when House was blowing cigarette smoke in his face. He kissed House goodnight after he stole oxycodone and overdosed on it. He kissed House goodnight when House was in jail. Every fight has a silver lining automatically tacked on when Wilson leans in and gives him a kiss goodnight, even if he shoves him away afterwards. Even if House tries to shove him off beforehand. Goodnight kisses throughout the duration of a fight are a promise that the fight isn’t going to last forever; angry, chaste pecks will one day yield passionate, loving kisses again. 

Wilson isn’t here now to give House a goodnight kiss. He hasn’t even come to visit. House is worried that the absence of the kisses - the absence of  _ him -  _ has made Wilson realize that this is a fight he doesn’t want to reconcile from. House is worried there won’t be another goodnight kiss. 

House is worried if he thinks about it too much, these nurses and these therapists and his ridiculous roommate will realize he’s hurting. Not just his leg; his heart. He misses his husband, and if he talks about Wilson for too long, if he  _ thinks  _ about Wilson for too long, they’ll realize House has feelings of the sappy variety. It will be one more thing to use against him.

Wilson is drowning in guilt over not going to visit House. He checks the Mayfield website so often, he has the visiting hours memorized. He finds himself sitting in his car for hours at a time, telling himself  _ yes, I’m going to visit him today. I will visit him today. I have to visit him today. I need to see him.  _

Sometimes he makes it all the way to Mayfield before he turns around. Sometimes he doesn’t even start the car.

He has Mayfield in his caller ID, which is stupid. House doesn’t have phone privileges, and Wilson knows it’s going to take eons for him to earn such a thing. His therapist called once or twice. Wilson even calls them on occasion. Sometimes he asks how his husband is doing; other times he hangs up before they answer.

Wilson misses him. The bed feels empty. The entire  _ hospital  _ feels empty. 

He rationalizes that it’s hard for him to go to Mayfield because of Daniel, but he knows that’s absolute bullshit. House would know it, too, if he showed up now and cited his brother as the reason he’s been avoiding a visit. Really, Wilson is scared of walking in during visiting hours and having to look himself in the eye. He wonders how many days he would have to be off his meds to get checked into Mayfield. He already has enough personality issues  _ with _ the antidepressants; he wonders if he would just cease to exist if he let his borderline run rampant. James Evan Wilson would be a different doctor to every patient he has. 

Alvie is the life of Mayfield. The social butterfly that keeps everyone begrudgingly connected. Even visitors know his name, especially the regulars, which is why when Alvie sees someone new wander in - a very handsome someone, he might add - his curiosity is immediately piqued. 

The piano is unlocked for visiting hours, something House has taken an intense interest in. He’s been playing tunes Alvie doesn’t recognize for the past half hour, and he’s still bent over the keys when the handsome stranger walks in. 

Alvie, who’s sitting next to Annie while they listen to House play, sits up a little bit when the stranger hones in on House and immediately starts towards him. He’s walking with intent, but very slowly, like he’s still deciding whether approaching House is a good idea.

Alvie manages to keep quiet out of sheer curiosity as the stranger comes to rest at House’s side. House’s fingers still over the keys, but he doesn’t look up. Alvie glances between the two of them and, sensing a tension that must be incredibly large for him to be able to tell it’s there, he gently takes Annie by the shoulders and guides her into standing up.

“Let’s go somewhere else!” He exclaims conversationally, leading her away. He exchanges a glance with the stranger as he does so, and he gives Alvie such a sympathetic and thankful look, his heart somehow leaps into his throat and drops through his stomach at the same time.

Wilson looks back down at his husband, unsure of how to start the conversation, but knowing that if he doesn’t, House will never speak to him again.

Finally, Wilson says, “Can I sit?”

House doesn’t say anything, but he moves over on the piano bench so there’s enough room for Wilson to sit next to him. When he sits down, their shoulders press together, and House hates how much he just wants to melt into his husband. He wants Wilson to hold him. He wants Wilson to be gentle like he always ends up being and remind House that he loves him. House almost wants to instigate the exchange, but there are so many people in the room, so he restrains himself.

Wilson puts a hand on House’s knee, and House could thank God for the fact that Wilson is still wearing his ring. 

Wilson seems to be at a loss, “How do you want me to start?”

House doesn’t answer him, he just reaches down and takes Wilson’s hand in his. He feels every knot of tension drain out of his husband, which is when House decides this is too sappy for him. “You brought the drugs, right?”

Wilson frowns, and for a moment House is scared he’s going to get up and leave and he finds himself tightening his grip on his husbands hand. Wilson immediately softens again. “Do you want to small talk?”

House shakes his head, “Not interesting.”

Wilson nods; he knew he was going to say that. They sit in silence for a few moments, before House nudges Wilson and says, “Little twink who was sitting over here earlier has the hots for me.”

Wilson hums, “You gonna do anything about it?”

“I’ve missed you too much to think about anyone else.”

Wilson blinks, startled by the sincerity. House almost looks surprised at himself, like he hadn’t been planning to actually say that out loud. Wilson wishes he could know every sappy thing House thinks about him but refuses to say.

“I’ve missed you, too.” He says softly, so no one can hear.

House still squirms, “Don’t get sappy.”

He wants to get sappy, though, as horrifying a thought that is. If they were alone, they’d already be undressed, wrapped up in bed and House would probably be chanting  _ I love you.  _

But they’re not alone, so House’s skin crawls at the thought. There are so many people in the room with them, and they’re sitting so close, and the rings on their fingers don’t matter, nothing matters. House doesn’t want to be seen.

He moves from the piano bench to the chair Annie had been sitting in before; Wilson scoots to the edge of the bench closest to him but doesn’t try to touch him again. 

House wants to be sappy, but not in front of other people, so he does the opposite. He picks a fight, “Why haven’t you come by before now?”

Wilson hesitates, “I’ve tried.”

“What, did they bar the door?” House asks sarcastically.

“ _ I _ barred the door.” Wilson admits, “I was… too scared to come. Not because of you, because of… me.”

“How selfish of you.” House observes, and Wilson cringes.

“I’ve been medicated since I’ve known I had BPD.” Wilson tries, “And even with that, I meld a new personality every time I talk to someone new. I act the way I do around  _ you  _ because I know you wouldn’t like any of the more polite options. I didn’t want to have to confront what I might be like if I went off my meds.”

House stares at him, his expression not revealing how he feels, so Wilson continues, “I know it’s a shitty excuse.”

“It is.” House agrees, “Nobody here even has borderline.”

Wilson visibly relaxes, so House adds, “The twink is bipolar, though.”

“Not applicable.” Wilson says quickly, “I’ll come see you more.”

“And if someone with BPD checks in I’ll just have to wait to see you until I make my grand escape.” House says.

“I will come see you more.” Wilson repeats, more serious, “BPD patients or no. I miss you.”

“Sappy.” House reminds him, unwilling to be seen showing any affection.

“Greg, if we were alone, you’d be in my lap.” Wilson whispers, and House wishes they were the only two people in the world. 

Alvie reappears, startling House, who was getting a little too caught up in the mental image of sitting in his husbands lap. Alvie, having already bounced around every other person in the room, introduces himself to Wilson, since he’s the only one left he hasn’t talked to. 

“I hear House likes you sometimes.” Alvie quips.

“I hear you have a crush on him.” Wilson responds in the same tone, and Alvie.exe appears to have crashed. 

Alvie disappears again, so flustered by being call out on his crush he doesn’t have anything else to say, for once. Wilson looks back at House, mildly distressed, “I didn’t mean to freak him out.”

“He’ll be fine.” House says, “We’re roommates, he can’t avoid me forever.”

Wilson still looks stressed, and House rolls his eyes, “However much damage you think you just did to his progress, you can calm down. He doesn’t even take his meds, he’ll be fine.”

Wilson looks at him, “Are  _ you _ taking your meds?”

House doesn’t answer, just winks at him, and Wilson frowns angrily, “Are you  _ trying _ to make me mad at you?”

“Well,  _ I’m _ already mad at  _ you _ , so I don’t see why not.” House returns.

Wilson glowers, then stands. House wants to let him leave, but before he can stop himself he reaches out and grabs his husbands hand. Wilson doesn’t push him off, but he does say, “I really do have to go.”

House doesn’t let go of his hand, and Wilson huffs, “House, I really do have a patient. If I don’t leave now - ”

“James.” House says softly, and Wilson shuts up and sits down in the chair next to House, waiting to see what he has to say.

House wishes he had just let him leave and sulked in his own thoughts over the piano until they locked it back up again. Even if he had let Wilson leave angrier than he was when he got here, at least he wouldn’t be suffering the embarrassment he’s about to. He hesitates for a long time, trying to keep his expression neutral, but Wilson waits anyways. God, House  _ hates  _ him; he  _ hates  _ how well he knows him. 

House swallows, and he has to force himself to say the words, “Kiss me goodnight?”

Wilson’s heart skips a beat, and he wants to grab House’s face and kiss him as hard as he can. He wishes they were alone so he could just sit here and kiss him, because now even after he leaves it’s going to be the only thing he’s going to be able to think about. House  _ hates  _ public displays of affection; he’s kissed Wilson with witnesses present exactly once, and that was at their wedding. He knows House’s skin is likely crawling at the idea of kissing Wilson here, but he wouldn’t have asked if it didn’t mean a lot to him.

Wilson places a hand on House’s arm and leans forwards and kisses him gently, mindful of their audience. House doesn’t break it; he doesn’t squirm; he doesn’t even make a face or say anything when Wilson pulls away from him. Wilson is reluctant to let go of him; he wishes he could draw him closer, but he knows this is already pushing it.

Instead he traces little circles on House’s arm with his thumb, “I really do have to go.”

“Yeah.” House agrees.

“Okay.” 

“Goodnight.” 

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

House gets up and leaves the room before Wilson can even find it in himself to stand. He abandons the unlocked piano in favor of trying to drown out the drumming of his heart in his own room. He doesn’t want people to watch him recover from Wilson’s lethal doses of affection; he doesn’t want to have to watch Wilson leave.

Despite Wilson’s insistence that he does have a patient - and he  _ does -  _ it takes him several moments to stand. He felt warmer just seeing House, and now he just feels cold. Like he’d suddenly jumped back in after weaning off House for weeks. House has been gone from the room thirty seconds and Wilson already needs his next fix. 

Alvie appears again; this time Wilson is startled by his sudden presence. They should get him a bell, he thinks. He stands up, “Hey.”

“I don’t have a crush on him.” Alvie insists, obviously nervous, “Where’d you even get that idea? You’re crazy. Maybe  _ you  _ should check into Mayfield.”

He laughs, and Wilson just looks at him sympathetically, and Alvie’s heart does that stupid thing again. He can’t find a though to latch onto, so he says, “You’re handsome.”

Wilson blinks, obviously caught off guard, but then he smiles softly, “Thanks. You, too.”

Whatever stupid thing Alvie’s heart was doing before, it’s nothing compared to the erratic beating it’s doing now. He giggles, and Wilson grins even wider and looks him up and down and wonders how even though House has been preoccupied with thoughts about him - a concept that makes Wilson a little weak at the knees - he managed to keep himself off this one.


	2. Chapter 2

Wilson comes and goes from Mayfield on a regular basis, but an appearance by him is never quite as dramatic as his first. House becomes accustomed to seeing him on a schedule that’s not quite a schedule. Wilson makes appearances regularly, but not regularly enough to predict exactly when he’s going to show up next. Sometimes he shows up as many times a week as he can, other times he’s absent for days at a time. 

Shortly after Wilson starts making appearances, House finally agrees to take his medication. He’ll let everyone believe his husbands presence is what spun him down the right track towards actually making an attempt at getting better, not Nolan’s manipulation. House is too smart to be manipulated; at least, that’s what he wants everyone else to think. 

Alvie spends a few good hours being mad at House for abandoning the idea of escaping Mayfield without medication, but all it takes to coax him back onto good terms is a smattering of open mouthed kisses on his collarbone in the privacy of their room.

House is mean when he’s kissing Alvie, the way he’s mean every other time he interacts with the man. Nevertheless, afterwards he always lets Alvie curl up into his side and fidget with House’s shirt or his hands or basically any part of House that Alvie can get his hands on. He loosens up a little bit when they’re behind closed doors, but never by much. Alvie gets the feeling House definitely has the capability of being much softer, but only under the gaze of very few.

Alvie still feels kind of weird about it, in certain moments. When he grabs House’s hand and is confronted with the smooth metal of his wedding band, or when he hangs around when Wilson comes by for a visit. The first night House coaxed him into bed with him, he laid under him rather hesitantly.

“Aren’t you and Wilson, like, happily married or whatever?” He had asked, “I don’t wanna become, like, a homewrecker.”

House had laughed at him; an actual laugh, like what Alvie had said was a real, genuine joke. 

“You’re not a homewrecker.” Was the only assurance he provided him.

Alvie was basically vibrating with anxiety the next time Wilson came by, worried he would be able to see it on him. Instead, he took his usual seat next to House, and was immediately pulled closer as House whispered something in his ear. And then Wilson grinned and Wilson looked at him and Wilson  _ winked,  _ and Alvie’s knees went so weak he almost collapsed.

The next time Wilson came by, after he was gone and House got Alvie alone again, he revealed a note from his pocket and tossed it at him haphazardly. “From my husband.” he said unceremoniously, “I’m sure it’s something sappy.”

It was certainly  _ something. _

“You’ve gotta destroy that.” House tells him after Alvie rereads it in silence for the thirtieth time.

“What?” Alvie squeaks, “No. Why?”

“You want someone to find it?” House asks.

Alvie keeps the note on him at all times, unwilling to leave it anywhere it could be found and unwilling to destroy it. The next time Wilson comes by, Alvie grabs House’s arm and presses the note into his palm. “Can you give that back?” he asks, “I really don’t want to lose it.”

House looks at the folded up note, then hands it back to Alvie, “Give it to him yourself.”

Alvie starts to protest, but then House leaves him alone. Alvie grabs Wilson nearly an hour later as he’s leaving and shoves the note in his hand. “Thank you.” he says quickly, “I liked your note but if I keep it I’ll probably lose it or ruin it or get it taken away.”

Wilson gives him the same sympathetic look he always gives him, which makes Alvie’s heart beat fast and his knees go weak. Wilson leans in a little closer to him, then, and says in a low voice, “I’d kiss you right now, if I thought I could get away with it.”

Alvie basically swoons, and Wilson leans back and slips the note in his pocket, “I’ll hold onto it for you.” he promises, which is a dangerous thing to say.

_ I’ll hold onto it for you.  _ Meaning what? Meaning Alvie has a chance of seeing him once he gets out of Mayfield?  _ If _ he gets out of Mayfield? He keeps telling himself Wilson probably threw it in the garbage as soon as Alvie couldn’t see him anymore; it was a stupid note. Wilson probably wasn’t expecting him to hold onto it for a week. He probably thinks he’s weird for holding onto it, for hoarding the mental images it inspired and for daring to think that Wilson might actually make good on them. 

_ I’ll hold onto it for you.  _ Said in the most earnest way possible. The way Wilson looks at him makes him feel like he’s the only person in the world who means anything. Like he’s the only person worth talking to, worth holding onto notes for. What a cruel way to lie to someone.

Wilson hates when House smokes.

He finds House and Alvie out on the balcony, each with a cigarette between their fingers, and the disapproving look on his face makes Alvie wither. He goes so far as to put his out in the ashtray as Wilson approaches, having only taken two drags from it.

“He’s an oncologist.” House explains without even turning around to acknowledge Wilson, “He’s basically required to hate smoking.”

“There are plenty of other reasons to hate smoking.” Wilson says, and his tone is conversational but with a hint of something more aggressive underneath it.

House takes another drag from his cigarette, “Actually, if you ignore the fact that they’re carcinogens, they’re really quite great.”

Wilson glowers, then puts his hand on House’s elbow to still it and runs it up his arm slowly. He almost makes it to the cigarette, but House jerks away from him. “Sorry,” he says, clearly not meaning it, “But I recently gave up drugs. I need something else to be addicted to.”

“Or you could try not being addicted to anything at all.” Wilson suggests, leaning against the fenced off balcony railing.

“He said, addicted to neediness.” House says.

“He said, addicted to being needy.” Wilson counters.

He looks pointedly at Alvie, then, and he sits up a little straighter, “You smoke?”

Alvie’s gaze flickers from the cigarette he just put out, back up to Wilson, “Not a lot.”

House hums disapprovingly, “Well, don’t guilt him into quitting.” House says, “He’s got to occupy his oral fixation somehow.”

Wilson back looks at House, and suddenly his conversational tone is gone, replaced entirely by whatever rested underneath it. “Put it out.”

House takes a drag and blows the smoke in Wilson’s face. Before Alvie can even process that, Wilson reaches up and snatches the cigarette out of House’s hand, and House doesn’t even protest. Wilson takes a single drag from the cigarette and blows the smoke in House’s face, and then he puts it out in the ashtray.

Alvie’s eyes are huge, “Oh,  _ you’re  _ in charge.”

Wilson and House both look at him, and then House laughs.

Alvie dreads the day House is going to leave. He genuinely was doing pretty well when he was cheeking his pills and lying to Nolan. But now that he’s actually accepting treatment, he’s doing even better, even if he doesn’t want to acknowledge it. Alvie, in the meantime, is more of the same, and the way it looks right now, House is going to be out of Mayfield within the coming months, and Alvie is going to be short one roommate and two lovers.

Okay, maybe lovers is a strong term to use, but he’s not sure what else to call the two of them. They’re not his boyfriends; he hasn’t even touched Wilson. They’re his somethings, but he’s not sure how to bring up the question of labels with House. He’s not sure House wants a label once he leaves. 

Wilson promises he won’t come to the talent show, even though House isn’t even going to be in it. His insistence that Wilson not come is lost on him, though, because he shows up anyways. House hovers over his chair, “I told you not to come.”

“I’m not here to see you.” Wilson says simply.

House goes and sulks in the back of the room. His brooding doesn’t last a terribly long time though, because he unfortunately finds himself up onstage with Alvie, doing anything he can to avoid making eye contact with his husband. Afterwards, Wilson isn’t even trying to stop himself from beaming. 

Before Alvie can run off, Wilson reaches inside his coat pocket and pulls out a single red rose, thorns peeled off, which he offers to the younger man. Alvie accepts it, blushing and grinning from the public display of affection, unable to contain his excitement.

“I would’ve brought you one.” Wilson says, smiling at his husband, who looks beyond embarrassed, “But I didn’t know you would be participating.”

Wilson gives Alvie a kiss on the cheek and House a kiss goodnight, and then he leaves. Alvie is in such a good mood when they get back to their room, he kisses House instead of waiting for the older man to instigate. 

On the day of House’s re-birthday, Alvie feels sick to his stomach. He almost just wants to stay in his room and not have to listen to everyone congratulate him and tell him that they hope to never see him again, because Alvie  _ does  _ want to see him again. He wants to see Wilson again, too. He wants to see both of them, he wants to find out if Wilson actually held onto the note for him and he wants to be completely alone with House and he wants to do  _ so many things  _ with them. He wants to leave Mayfield with House, but at the rate he’s going, that’s never going to happen.

Alvie halfheartedly eats cake and wholeheartedly clings to House when he allows him to hug him in front of everyone. He spends the entire re-birthday staring at House like he’s never going to get to see him again. He’s worried he might not; he thinks about House walking out of Mayfield and forgetting about him entirely, and Alvie wants to grab him and kiss him so he never forgets. 

His desire to follow House out of Mayfield eventually leads him down a train of thought that feels both inevitable and brand new. Alvie stands in the window watching House at the bus stop - Wilson is on call - and he replays the gentle kiss House gave him not ten minutes ago over and over again in his mind. House called it a goodnight kiss - whatever that’s supposed to mean. It’s not even dark out. But even so, he didn’t call it a goodbye kiss, which means there might be hope for something more outside of Mayfield. But there’s only one way for Alvie to accomplish that.

Dr. Beasley slides the window open almost immediately after Alvie knocks on it, resting her chin on her hands. “What do you need, Alvie?”

“My meds.” Alvie says with a hesitant smile, “I wanna get better.”


End file.
